Anxiety Disorder
by GatesThistle
Summary: Sleep deprived, emergency room intern, medical student, Leonard McCoy, meet drunk and disorderly Jim Kirk.


He was dead on his feet. He'd been running on caffeine and adrenaline for what seemed to be a never ending shift.

Any self respecting young man should be out at this time of night on Friday, or, he checked his watch, technically Saturday.

All Leonard really wanted was to be in his own bed. Alone and sleeping.

Unfortunately, medical students midway through their internships don't quite get that luxury. Especially on a Friday night Emergency Room shift.

It was swamped with stupid young drunks who had managed to get in a fight, fall down the stairs, drink far too much and require a stomach pump or, his favorite yet, convince themselves that their oncoming hangover is a telltale sign of an aneurysm.

This one appeared to fall into the first category. The devil-may-care attitude insinuated by his split lips graced with a smirk and the worn leather jacket was canceled out by his utter dependence on his immaculate friend to be able to walk.

And now he was getting blood everywhere.

Pre-Med: Course one, Lesson one: control of facial expressions.

Leonard repressed a grimace.

The kid was grinning up at him from the table covered in parchment paper, seemingly oblivious to the fracture in his right arm. Quite a feat considering the bone was poking through the skin.

"Hey Doc."

"Not there yet, Kid."

For some inexplicable reason, he grinned wider, reopening his split lip, yet more blood trickling down his face. "I broke my boooooooone."

"The diagnosis is sound," his previously silent companion noted. "He is also bleeding profusely."

Control of facial expressions. "MmHm," Leonard said. "Could I take a look at it?"

The kid mock swooned, nearly careening off the table altogether. "I'm flattered, but we only just met."

Leonard crossed his arms and waited.

He eventually got the message and held his arm out for inspection.

Looked to be broken completely in two, with the ulna jutting out of the flesh on the opposite side of the arm than it should be.

"What happened here?" He asked, shock bleeding through his unflappable voice. He gingerly turned it to see the damage done to the forearm.

The kid shrugged. "The other guy fell on it when Spock knocked him out."

Leonard felt his eyebrows climb up his face and his gaze flicked to meet the cool eyes of 'Spock', mildly impressed despite himself. "Must have been a big guy."

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I called him Cupcake."

The kid had a death wish. "Any particular reason?"

He simply shrugged again.

He glanced at the paper work he'd been given, filled out in precise writing that could only belong to Spock, "Mister Kirk…"

"Jim," he was immediately corrected.

"…I'm going to give you something for the pain and then call up a surgeon to have a look at this. This is beyond my pay grade."

"Excuse me," Spock interrupted. "I have come to the conclusion that you are a medical student and therefore are working as an intern, so you have no pay grade." He was actually confused.

For the first time Leonard considered the possibility that the clear-eyed, stable, able-to-knock-out-someone-twice-his-weight Spock may also be the tiniest bit drunk.

Jim rolled his eyes. "He's logical. You know, philosophy class freshman year, we learned about pure logic and it stuck. Only thing in that class that did. He tried to get me out of that fight, tried to outline why it was a bad idea." He gestured vaguely to his arm. "As you can see, logic failed."

"Jim continues to defy logic," Spock agreed.

Jim nodded, almost going off the edge once again. "It's why we're friends. I'm a puzzle to him. I bet you could keep me out of fights," he said suddenly, bright eyes alighting. "You look responsible."

Leonard turned from the cabinet where he was searching for the safest dosage for someone in such an inebriated state. "Can't get much more responsible that Mr. Strong and Stoic over there," he said, nodding in Spock's direction.

Jim smiled. "I like you. I'm going to have to break my arm more often..."

"Don't you dare."

"…or I could call you sometime?"

The kid was smooth. And energetic for someone who'd ingested enough alcohol to down an elephant.

"You know," Leonard said musingly, biting his bottom lip in concentration as he filled the syringe with the proper amount. "On most people alcohol is a depressant."

Jim shrugged. "I'm part Irish. And Russian."

Leonard snorted and withdrew from the cabinet. "Alright, anesthetic time."

Jim's eyes widened in horror for a second, his mouth emitting nonsense syllables of primal fear. And then he passed out.

Leonard blinked and stared at him, finally looking to Spock for an answer.

"Jim suffers from a slight anxiety disorder in reaction to syringes."

Leonard turned his glare back to Jim, who was now drooling on the parchment paper he had so recently been bleeding all over.

"Unbelievable."

**Author's Note:** Could easily stand alone, but I think of it as a prequel to _It's A Phobia_. Similar setting and, of course, The Phobia. Hope you liked it. This is complete. Don't have it in me for yet another monster


End file.
